Rumpled Bedding
by jessicakaycobb
Summary: Ever wonder what that line in "By The Sea" meant? ONESHOT. This is smut, people, so no kiddies, please! Rated M for strong sexual content.


It wasn't much, but she would take it.

This thing she had going with Mr. T…it wasn't what she dreamed, but then again, she knew in her ever-practical mind that _those_ fantasies would never come true.

But some could.

The way he would look at her sometimes, his eyes glazed over, ghosts of the past dancing across his face, she would be lost.

It was always midnight.

She would be asleep in her room – or rather, in the fitful half-rest she had become accustomed to these past few weeks since he'd been back – and she would hear a scuffling at the door. The door would crack open, and a sliver of golden candlelight would creep hazily into the room.

In a moment she would be wide awake, knowing it was him, hearing his soft, uneven breathing as he crept closer to the bed, his face cast in the half-light of the candle he was clutching.

He was so beautiful.

This time, she didn't even ask what he was doing there. He needed her – well, not really _her_, but she would take it.

He set the candlestick down on the night stand, never breaking eye contact. She was sitting up now, not even bothering to pull the clothes up in a false sense of modesty. There was no need for that.

His hand was on her cheek, staring intently into her face, then he bent down and covered her lips with his. She eagerly responded, refusing to listen to that voice that tried to stop her, tried to reason that this wasn't real. She stamped it down like it was a nasty bug.

Now, just now, she was fully engrossed in his kiss, the way his lips were moving over hers hungrily, his tongue tracing her bottom lip, begging entrance. She complied, and soon he was exploring the depths of her mouth, tasting, drinking her in.

The little voice in her head was talking again. No, it wasn't her he was kissing, she knew that. But now was not the time to be a jealous woman. Not when he was trailing kisses down her neck like that.

She gasped as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just above her collarbone. He groaned into her neck and repeated the action. Again her body responded, and he seemed to be driven by the way she was squirming underneath him.

With trembling hands now, he fumbled with the tie on her nightgown. It wouldn't come undone, and he was becoming impatient. She guided his fingers and soon he was pulling the fabric away, revealing the soft white skin.

She closed her eyes as he began to worship her breasts, kissing them tenderly, lovingly, taking his time, then coming up to kiss her mouth again, always gently and carefully, as if afraid he would harm her or frighten her. It was almost too much to bear.

When she opened her eyes again, he had removed his shirt, and was busy slipping the nightgown over her left shoulder, trailing kisses down her arm as he revealed the smooth, pale skin there. Some things were worth it.

She knew from experience that she shouldn't reach for his trousers to undo them, even though she was nearly desperate to return some of the pleasure he was giving her. He didn't want her aggressive. So she stayed herself, trying instead to concentrate on the way he was making her feel.

Live for the moment, she told herself.

Now he was pulling at the fabric of her nightgown, tugging it down over her hips, now off her legs. She was almost lost completely when he kissed up her right leg and lingered on her belly, letting his tongue trace patterns closer and closer to where she wanted him, but never quite making it there. It was almost too much.

Then, without her knowledge that he'd even removed his trousers, he parted her legs and positioned himself between them. He braced his hands on either side of her head and leaned down to capture her lips again. When she was sufficiently lost in his kiss, he thrust into her, not roughly, but in a way that told her that he had been waiting for this moment for a while.

For a moment, he didn't move, just held himself inside her, kissing her slowly, ensuring her pleasure first. He didn't want to hurt her, she knew. Then, after an agonizing second or two, he began to move.

It was slow, almost to the point of frustration, but it only took a few thrusts for the sweet torture to push her over the edge, and she clutched his arm as she came, burying her face in his shoulder and crying out.

"Benjamin," she choked, and he turned his head quickly to cover her mouth with his, swallowing her moan and thrusting harder. She knew he liked to be called by his given name during their midnight meetings.

Now he was beginning in earnest, satisfied that he wasn't going to hurt her, and he kissed down her jaw line to her ear, then to her neck, sucking on a few tender spots on his way. His pace increased, and their bodies were slick with sweat, both groaning as they became lost in their pleasure.

Her body slowly awoke again, and soon she was meeting him thrust for thrust, hands full of that thick black hair, mouth kissing and sucking his neck, ears full of his hot, heavy breath, that rough voice of his groaning with every move she made. Somewhere in her mind, the little voice was firmly locked away in a small box, and she couldn't help but be a bit smug in her knowledge that _she_ was the one making him groan like that.

Another second and it would be too late, she knew, so she put her lips close to his ear and whispered the words she so desperately wanted to hear him say to her.

"I love you."

His pace quickened again, and he turned his face to lock his eyes onto hers, their foreheads resting together. His eyes rolled back as another wave of pleasure washed over him, and when he opened them again, they were more intense than she'd ever seen them.

"I love you," he choked, and her heart leapt within her. She closed her eyes and pulled him close into a passionate kiss, hands buried in his hair, holding him in place. That did it. She could feel it.

Another few hard thrusts and she felt him swelling up inside her. His eyes shot open and sweat was dripping from the ends of his hair; his body jerked violently, and she was coming too, legs wrapped around him hopelessly and desperately trying to avoid loss of contact.

"Lucy," he cried in a strangled voice, collapsing on top of her.

Suddenly, she was brought back to reality as harshly as if he had thrown a bucket of water in her face. Of course, she had known it wasn't real, and that he was thinking of _her_ the whole time, that it was never her face he was seeing, but…

_Stop kidding yourself_, she scolded. His breathing was slowly returning to normal now. Another moment and it would be over; he would be gone again.

But this time, he didn't push her away with a disgusted growl and storm out of the room, like he'd done before.

He lifted himself up and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead as he pulled away from her, wincing a bit at the physical loss of contact. Then he rolled over to the other side of her bed – Albert's side, she thought vaguely – and drifted off to sleep.

Momentarily shocked, she couldn't even muster the courage to lean over to blow out the candle. Was he really going to stay, even knowing she wasn't his dear Lucy?

It wasn't something she wanted to question, really, for fear the spell would be broken and he would leave her again. So she cautiously draped her arm over his body and curled up against his back. She heard him sighing in his sleep.

It wasn't much, but she would take it.


End file.
